


Of Intimations and Silence

by boats_birds



Series: KagaKuro Week 2015 [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deaf Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rating May Change, Romance, kagakuroweek2015
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boats_birds/pseuds/boats_birds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroko blinks between the messy hiragana and the tall redhead, as it slowly clicks in his mind, then quietly says, “You’re deaf.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Intimations and Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this being a day late! After tomorrow, I should be back on track! Anywho, this is something I've thought about writing for a really, really long time. I've always loved hurt/comfort fics, and I've always wanted to try my hand at a KagaKuro deaf/blind/mute AU, and thus this was born~ For the prompt: What If/AU.
> 
> Postscript Statement: First off, thank you so much for everyone who showed an interest in this fic! Since a lot of people asked and gave me the encouragement I needed, I'll be marking this as unfinished and make it a multi-chaptered story to be worked on in the future! Thank you again, I can't being to tell you guys how much it means to me that you enjoy my writing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

Kuroko dreams in black and white, with flashes of burning red.

He likes to think he’s more or less moved on, that it’s been months now and he’s come to terms with everything that happened. But when he closes his eyes, when he slips somewhere between consciousness and thoughts he’d rather not have, it wakes up. Like a monochromatic monster, it sinks its teeth into his dreams, bleeding the colors until he’s colorless and grey.

Color. Buzzer. Ones. Ogiwara. Grey.

It repeats until his eyes snap open, throat aching and breath heavy.

Kuroko doesn’t think about middle school unless he has to. He pushes it to the back of his mind so where it sits like a skeleton, and once he catches his breath again, he tries to fall back asleep. But his world is different now, it’s not as colorful as it used to be, and he feels such weight on his shoulders and eyelids that it keeps his brain churning.

He feels so _useless_ , lying in bed amidst the rubble of what everything used to be.

Kuroko doesn’t like thinking about it unless he has to.

That’s when his dreams burn a deep, deep red.

He’s not really sure why the shade soothes him, leaves him content yet aching at the same time. He thinks he remembers it from the corner of his eye, fire spreading across the court he once loved so much. He thinks he remembers muffled words, how he heard them but didn’t bother to actually hear them. He thinks he remembers the bounce of a basketball, and how it made him wince with the familiarity.

But he’s not sure. Because he doesn’t like to remember unless he has to.

His thoughts chase circles in his head, monster chasing skeleton, and while he knows that he should face it all, no matter how it may hurt, he can never bring himself to.

Eventually, somewhere in the middle of another sleepless night and possible panic attack, he makes a decision. One that takes so much thought and yet no thought at all.

He decides that his basketball will win.

Even if everyone told him it couldn’t, it _would_. He would prove them all wrong, show them there was more to basketball than just victory, and he’d do it his own way. He would fix everything.

And then Kuroko starts high school, with colors of black, white, and burning red.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Kuroko!”

Kuroko pauses in front of his locker, turning with one hand still tugging on his shoe before placing his school slippers back in their cubicle.

The person who called is a small brown-haired boy Kuroko vaguely recognizes from his class, the boy whose hands always fidget when called on in class. They were assigned the library committee together, along with both signing forms for interest in the basketball club.

The name clicks into place. “Yes, Furihata-kun?”

Furihata smiles at the sound of his name and chirps, “I just wanted to remind you about library committee tomorrow!”

“Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you for reminding me,” he says, shutting his locker and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Ah! Wait!” Furihata calls after him, and Kuroko notices his hands start to fidget again. But he waits all the same, tilting his head in invitation to continue.

“We were wondering if you’d like to get something to eat with us?” Furihata nods behind him. Kuroko peeks to see two more boys that he’s sure aren’t in his class, but also filled out the basketball forms. Fukuda-kun and Kawahara-kun.

It sounds nice for a moment. To go out with future possible teammates. To spend some time just hanging out and joking about nothing in particular.

But then colors flash behind his eyes in a rapid succession of rainbow, and it still stings a little, so he says, “I’m sorry, Furihata-kun. I have to go home today, but maybe next time.”

“Oh… Okay then!”

He ignores how Furihata’s smile slips when he replies, ignores how the guilt bubbles up his throat and nearly pours out of his mouth with a series of apologies. Instead, he simply bows and says goodbye before leaving the school.

The walk home is quiet, which Kuroko typically enjoys, but not when it’s tinged with a loneliness he’s still trying to accept. It’s fine, it’s not like he hasn’t disappointed others before, but this was supposed to be a new start. He was supposed to be over this and make a new path for himself, where he could carve out his own court lines with a new team and new basketball. How could he begin to do that if he couldn’t even go out for a simple meal with some classmates?

It’s not until he glances up that he realizes, while he was trailing in his thoughts, his feet have carried him in the opposite direction of home.

Instead, he stands by a street court.

For a moment, it’s so bittersweet it stings on his tongue. A feeling of such excitement and adoration swells within him, the urge to run onto the court and shoot even though he knows he’ll miss nearly overwhelming. But in the next instance, the feeling is replaced with such aversion and grief, the urge to run far away from anything related to swishing nets and textured rubber nearly overwhelming. He grips at his chest, hoping that maybe, _just maybe_ , it’ll ease the ache that cracks across his sternum.

And just when he nearly breaks, his vision burns red.

Kuroko’s not sure how he missed someone playing on the court (and he briefly wonders when he started getting so trapped in his own mind), but the familiar ping of a dribbling ball and the clank of a dunk on metal rim has his eyes catching on the lone player.

The first thing Kuroko notices is the red—of his hair, his shirt, and just _him_. He’s not sure how to explain it, but the very air around him seems tinged with the color. It’s so familiar, in a way Kuroko can’t quite place, but it soothes that ache like cold water on a burn and Kuroko wants to immerse himself in it.

The second thing Kuroko notices is how he plays basketball. He’s not sure how long he just stands there watching, but every moment is so mesmerizing that he can’t bring himself to care. The redhead plays like he can fly, effortlessly jumping to the goal and then falling to the court. The ball seems as if it follows him, a tiny orange Earth gravitating towards the sun. It’s incredible, but Kuroko can sense more underneath it: anger, discontent, frustration.

Yet it’s still so _amazing_. Even for a phantom sixth man.

Eventually, the redhead stops, lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and turns to place his ball in a bag by the bench. He’s leaving, and Kuroko’s not sure why this bothers him so much, but it does. Before he realizes it, he’s already running around the fence to reach the court.

“Please wait!” he calls out, but the redhead ignores him, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking off.

Kuroko debates calling again, but his voice dies in his throat. He’s not insulted—for all he knows the boy didn’t even know he was there. He’s used to being ignored by people, though that’s his fault, not theirs. So instead he takes note of the court and the time, and decides to come back.

After all, it’s not every day a shadow finds a light as bright as the sun.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Kuroko?”

Kuroko pauses in front of his locker, fingers stalling on closing it shut, and turns to find Furihata standing beside him.

Furihata’s hands aren’t fidgeting like previously, instead they lay still by his sides, and he actually meets Kuroko’s gaze. While Kuroko may have only known his fellow library committee member for a week, he knows enough to recognize the new determination in Furihata.

“Do you have to go home immediately today? Or would you like to get something to eat?” Furihata asks, and Kuroko notices Fukuda and Kawahara peeking from behind him.

The succession of rainbow flashes again, polychrome burning his eyes. Ogiwara’s face cracks into his vision and he nearly declines just to make it all go away. But then Furihata gently smiles with, “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” and two faces pop up from behind his shoulders to nod in agreement.

And Kuroko finds himself saying, “Yes.”

He hasn’t been to Maji Burger for a while, but it’s still exactly the same, the smell of grease and fries leaving a nostalgic sort of hollow in his stomach. They order their food, Kuroko grabbing his usual vanilla milkshake, and find some seats over in a corner of the restaurant. The other three immediately take up some form of war, battling with ketchup packets and fry soldiers, Kawahara’s general falling quickly to the tomato paste onslaught.

When Kuroko finally takes a sip of his shake, the laughter of the others ringing in his ears, he can’t help but think it tastes a little sweeter than it did before.

He’s still in the middle of taking a drink when the door swings open with a chime, and he nearly chokes on it. Furihata glances at him and asks if he’s okay, but Kuroko’s not even paying attention because he’s too focused on red hair.

The same tall redhead from yesterday walks over to the register without even glancing around. He towers over the counter and the girl working it, her neck craning to meet his eye. Mumbling his order in a voice too quiet for a man his size, it still rumbles through to Kuroko, his ears pricking pleasantly at the sound.

The girl smiles politely. “So the usual?”

Squinting, brows tangling together momentarily, the redhead sharply nods.

His order comes soon enough, a pyramid of burgers piled high on his tray, and he carries them over to a table by the window, sitting by himself. Then he begins the methodical, if not disturbing, display of eating twenty cheeseburgers for one meal. Kuroko’s staring, he knows that, but he doesn’t think it matters much with the redhead’s gaze is focused outside, chewing rapidly in his disinterest.

“Man, what a scary guy, huh?”

Kuroko glances at Furihata just as Fukuda agrees, “Yeah, but did you see how tall he is? He’s gotta play basketball.”

Furihata takes a bite of his burger. “Still doesn’t mean he’s not scary.”

“I don’t think he’s scary.”

They all turn to Kuroko, eyes blinking, which is when Kuroko realizes he hasn’t really spoken this entire time.  But he repeats himself, “He’s not scary. He’s…” He pauses, thinking of the redhead’s basketball from a week ago, “frustrated.”

“What makes you say that?” Kawahara asks.

Kuroko pauses, watching as the subject of their conversation finishes his burger, tosses what few remain into his bag, and stands up from his seat. He shoves all his wrappers in the trash, even pausing to pick up some that dropped, then exits back out the door with a casual wave to the girl behind the register.

Kuroko feels the corners of his lips tilt up, and that weight on his shoulders is suddenly lighter than it’s been in months.

“I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling.”

 

* * *

 

“Excuse me?”

A clamor of the ring and the swish of the net before the basketball bounces across the concrete. Kuroko’s standing on the opposite side of the court, watching from beside the bench, and yet the redhead still takes no notice of him. Instead, he’s completely caught up in playing against imaginary opponents, driving past them before making another shot.

Kuroko lets out a small huff. He’s seen the redhead playing a few times now, but their timing never matches completely, or the boy just completely ignores him while walking off.

But not today.

Just as the ball is shot, bouncing off the rim, Kuroko walks over and gathers it for him, running his fingers over the textured bumps. When he looks up, eyes that same shade of soothing red are blinking at him rapidly, eyelashes fluttering.

Then the boy jumps in shock, making a strangled sort of noise in his throat. He points at Kuroko and opens his mouth, but then shuts it again. He doesn’t ask where Kuroko came from, or how long he’d been there, and while it’s not a big deal in the least, it’s certainly strange for Kuroko.

He quickly bows and apologizes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to know if you wanted to play one-on-one.”

When he dips back out of his bow, he hands the ball back to the redhead. He takes it, but he’s also scowling at Kuroko. Again, he opens his mouth, shuts it, repeats. His eyebrows knit together.

And then he just walks away.

It takes Kuroko a moment, thoughts about how this person was possibly more unapproachable than even Midorima-kun, and when he’s just about to call out again, he notices the redhead’s just went to the bench. He starts digging through his bag, pulling out some burgers and placing the ball to the side before fishing out a notebook.

It’s just a normal notebook, small and worn at the edges, its blue cover littered with marks. As he flips through it, Kuroko notices some of the pages are warped from being wet, and there are little pieces torn out. When he finds a clean page, he grabs the pen hooked on the wire binding, and quickly scribbles onto the sheet. He turns and shows it to Kuroko.

_‘I can’t hear you.’_

Kuroko blinks between the messy hiragana and the tall redhead, as it slowly clicks in his mind, then quietly says, “You’re deaf.”

The redhead squints at his lips, concentrating fully on them, and Kuroko suddenly feels self-conscious, like he’s under an inspection he didn’t know he cared about. The spell doesn’t break until the redhead arches a brow and then nods.

Deaf. He was deaf and Kuroko had been trying to get his attention by calling out to him this whole time. If anything, he had to be the most foolish person in all of Tokyo, considering he made it his hobby to watch people and notice their tics, yet couldn’t even tell when a person was deaf. The guilt churned through him again, ashamed he never noticed such a thing.

He reaches for the boy’s notebook. The large hand hesitates, clenching on its pages, but lets go when Kuroko gently touches it. Kuroko steals the pen out of his hand and quickly writes in neat script, _‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Is this easier for you than reading my lips?’_

They exchange the notebook again, red eyes darting over the words. He glances back up at Kuroko, eyeing him curiously before he responds, ‘ _It’s fine. And it’s easier for you to just talk. I’m no good with kanji._ ’

Is he from somewhere else then? It wouldn’t be surprising, given his tall build and his tanned skin, yet he looks Japanese. Kuroko files the information away for later, to be asked when more important things weren’t at hand.

He locks their gaze. “Allow me to apologize again. My name is Kuroko Tetsuya. I just wanted to ask if I could play with you.”

It’s odd, talking to someone who can’t speak back, but between the two of them, the redhead looks more awkward. And it’s not just how his eyes dart between Kuroko’s eyes and mouth, half focusing on words and half avoiding eye contact. There’s an air of suspicion about him, in the way hesitates putting pen to paper, in the way he keeps glancing at Kuroko as if he’s waiting for something.

 _‘Kagami Taiga,’_ he writes, and Kuroko quietly commits the symbols to memory, testing the name in his head. It suits him. _‘Why would you want to play with me?’_

“Because I want to test you,” he says simply.

Confusion, then a flame ignites in those red eyes, a smirk sitting crooked on tanned lips, revealing the sharp canines of his teeth.

_‘Sure, but you asked for it.’_

Kuroko walks over and grabs the ball from the bench, rubbing his palms over its surface. It still stings, how familiarly it settles against his hands, but…it’s not as sharp now, dull. So he dribbles back to Kagami and takes a defensive stance before trying to drive past him.

It takes less than fifteen minutes for Kuroko to lose spectacularly. It’s no competition whatsoever, Kagami being faster, stronger, and most importantly able to make actual shots without missing. And it seems Kagami recognizes this too, because it doesn’t take long for a scowl to settle over his face, and when the ball rolls off the side of the court, Kuroko chasing after it, he comes back to a notebook shoved in his face.

_‘Are you serious?! You’re terrible!’_

Kuroko mumbles, “That’s mean,” just for Kagami to scribble down, _‘I heard that.’_

Kagami sighs and pinches at the bridge of his nose. He glances down into blue eyes, then slowly writes, _‘Listen, you should quit basketball. There’s no point.’_

Kuroko hasn’t even finished reading before he says, “I don’t believe that. I love basketball, I just play differently than you.” Kagami arches an eyebrow at him skeptically and Kuroko adds, “Besides, someone once told me that I shouldn’t give up.”

_‘That person’s stupid then.’_

Kuroko ignores that, and can’t help but to ask. “Do you play on a team?”

Long fingers pause, gripping the pen hard. Then, _‘No, my school doesn’t have one.’_

“Your school?”

_‘For the deaf.’_

“Oh,” Kuroko says quietly. Then without thinking continues, “But you’re so good at basketball. That’s a shame.”

Kagami hesitates again, goes to write something, then scribbles it out and writes, _‘Are you?’_

He thinks about Furihata, Fukuda, and Kawahara, about how he filled out the form with middle school as his reason to join, and about how their first practice starts next week. Pale blue uniforms and the phantom sixth man are far from his thoughts.

“Yes, I guess I am.”

Kagami pauses at that, examines him up and down carefully. Then he bites his lip, chewing on the flesh before writing, _‘I’ll think about it.’_

Kuroko smiles for what truly feels like the first time in ages. “Will you be here again tomorrow?”

_‘Yeah, I guess so.’_

“Can we play again?”

Kagami snorts. _‘If you get better.’_

“I’ll be here tomorrow then,” he promises.

Kagami blinks, staring at his mouth as if he read it wrong, then laughs. It’s loud and echoes across the court, bouncing off the goals. And even though it’s rough, a little warbled and distorted, Kuroko can’t help but think that it’s such a nice sound.

_‘Alright then. But I’ll just kick your ass again.’_

Gathering his bag and tossing it onto his shoulder, Kuroko says, “We’ll see. Thank you for playing with me today.”

A nod and then Kagami closes his notebook, placing it back in his bag with his burgers and basketball. He trails after Kuroko, walking beside him in an awkward sort of shuffle, not quite meeting his eye. They walk together out of the park, until they part ways with Kuroko pointing down one street.

“I have to go this way. Until tomorrow, Kagami-kun.” He curls his tongue around Kagami’s name, and finds that it feels as familiar as a basketball, that it feels just as nice.

And when Kuroko turns away, he doesn’t see Kagami raise his hand in a casual wave, smile sitting lopsided on his cheeks. Nor does he hear the quiet distorted, “B _ye_.”

But he does have his own smile. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel so alone when he walks home.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroko lays down for bed that night, his mind is pleasantly quiet, the skeleton closet shut quietly, the monster asleep, and the weight on his eyelids lifted.

And he dreams in the deepest, warmest red.


End file.
